Макс Коллинз - Shoot the Moon (and more)

By now I’m sure you understand why we streaked. First off it gave Wheat and me a reason for being in Wynning. Sue Ann’s uncle, seeing me there, assumed I had come to streak, and I couldn’t let him down, without making him suspicious. And, of course, streaking we drew away the highway patrol and enabled Elam and Hopp to sneak out of Wynning by the back door.

And in case you’re wondering how I convinced Elam to go along with leaving the money behind, I. simply pointed out that a thorough investigation of the bank robbery (and with the money taken, the investigation would be far more thorough than if not) would have had to include an investigation of Wheat and me and why we were in Wynning, and from Wheat and me to our DeKalb County Jail bunkmates Elam and Hopp would be no great jump.

But we never were linked to the robbery. If you can even call it a robbery: after all, no money was taken. And I wouldn’t have written this book if my lawyer hadn’t advised me that no legal action was likely to be taken against me.

Sue Ann’s father will be finding out the truth for the first time when he reads this. I expect his reaction to be negative. He’s a nice man, but he’s bound to be unhappy about being bound for fifteen some hours in that bank.

Sue Ann I did tell that truth to, and right away. She found it all very exciting, and didn’t feel I’d taken advantage of her in the least. Otherwise we probably wouldn’t be married and living together in Iowa City right now. I am going to grad school, in business, and her father is helping me through, though he may cut me off when he reads this book.

I also told the truth to my father, who at first was furious with me, for all kinds of reasons; but then I reminded him he was a minister and said, “Come on, Dad... all I did was turn the other cheek,” and he started laughing and forgave me. My mother gave in (and stopped crying) when she saw me on The Mike Douglas Show . If Mike Douglas wasn’t ashamed of me, well, then, she wasn’t ashamed of me, either.

Of course Wheaty has done much better on the talk show circuit than I have. We did several of them together (we did The Tomorrow Show with the guy who streaked the Academy Awards) and then they started asking Wheaty alone. Johnny Carson has had Wheaty on six times, one of which was when Johnny himself was there. Wheat’s living in Hollywood, with the Founder’s Day Queen.

Wheaty and I are a corporation, as you may have read. We each get half of each other’s project. I get half of his comedy album, and he gets half of this book. Wheat and I are still the best of friends, contrary to what you may have read in the National Enquirer .

Now comes the hard part. Ending the story. My agent wanted me to call in a ghost writer to help on this book, primarily because he wanted to have the manuscript in about two weeks, before the streaking fad became ancient history, but I insisted on doing it all myself, and not trying to just rush through and cash in on a fad.

But I really do wish I could have a professional writer’s help right now, because the story is over, and I don’t know what to do to get off stage.

Sue Ann is standing behind me, as I sit here typing this, and she’s impatient for me to finish.

She doesn’t have any clothes on.

Which is the moral of this story, I guess: taking your clothes off can be very rewarding, if you play your cards right.

I felt great, my heart was pounding, but I should have slugged her harder. Or killed her, one of the two. I was hardly out the window and onto the lawn when she woke up and started in screaming her head off.

“Shut up, you bitch...” My voice hissed through my teeth like air from a punctured tire. “I’ll hit you again, Goddamnit, shut the fuck up.”

But it was too late.

Too late to climb back in and shut her up and too late to get away. I moved past the bushes along the side of the house and went back to my car in the alley. I could hear voices only a block or so away, so I had to work fast. I pulled the tactic I’d thought about a few times but never used. I reached in the back seat and grabbed my holstered gun, blue shirt with badge, and cap. Put them on faster than hell. Then I reached around into the front seat and flipped on the radio and grabbed off the mike and spoke into it.

“Ralph, hello Ralph, this is Harry.”

His voice came back tinny over the cheap squawkbox speakers. “What’s the trouble, officer?”

The mayor must have been in the station or Ralph wouldn’t have called me “officer.” Ralph was the chief but we didn’t have many formalities, not in a town of a few thousand.

“Look, Ralph, I think the raper’s hit again. There’s a woman screaming and I’m heading over to look into it. Okay, Ralph?”

He forgot the newfound formality fast. “Jesus H. Christ, another rape! Damn it, damn. Any sign of the bastard?”

“Ralph, I’ll shoot the damn bull with you some other time, okay? I’m going over and see what the hell’s going on, you don’t mind.”

“I better send somebody over to help you.”

“Good idea.”

“Frank’s hanging around the building somewhere. He’s off duty, but he’s the only one here so I’ll send him.”

“We’re going to get this guy, Ralph.”

“Damn right we will, Harry.”

I clicked the mike off and put it back on the radio and headed for the house. Things’d been happening fast. Almost forgot to zip my fly.

She was still screaming , so I didn’t go in. Besides, there was a crowd of people in bathrobes and dressing gowns and such milling around, and I had to keep them cleared away as best I could till Frank got there to lend a hand.

When Frank finally did show, I told him to go in and do the questioning. An ambulance, Frank said, was on the way. I stood outside and worked at moving the funseekers away.

After a while the ambulance pulled up and I went inside and helped Frank and some guy from the hospital ease the bitch onto a stretcher and out the door and into the back of the ambulance. She looked right at me once and didn’t bat an eye. The ambulance tore away and Frank stood there looking after it, shaking his head.

“Damn that bastard anyway, Harry, that damn bastard’s going to get his, I swear.”

“Same guy, suppose?”

“Sure as hell is. Same as always. Woman at home alone, her husband on the night shift or off on a National Guard stint or something of the like. The son of a bitch jimmies open a window and attacks her in her sleep, then knocks hell out of her.”

“Have a cigarette, Frank.”

Frank was in civvies, a T-shirt and white jeans as a matter of fact, and he stood there looking toward where the ambulance’d been, rubbing his hand over the place on his sandy crewcut where it was thinning. He said “Thanks” when I handed him the cigarette and lit it off his own lighter.

“You ain’t letting this thing get you, are you, Frank?”

“Guess maybe I am. Jesus, let me tell you, it’s enough to scare hell out of a married man. Christ, I mean you, you aren’t married, you can’t understand just how bad it is. But me, hell. A young wife. A kid in a crib. Me gone nights a lot. Scares the crap right out of me, a nut like this loose.”

“Sure, Frank,” I said. “I can see what you mean. I mean, I ain’t married or anything, but I can see what you mean.”

Frank rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Hell, Harry, how do you figure him? A psycho, sure, but how do you figure him?”

I smiled. “How do you figure a psycho?”

“I don’t know. I honest to God don’t know. But he gets his jollies making people hurt, I can see that plain enough. He always slugs hell out of the women, after he’s had ’em. Didn’t beat this as bad as the others, though, did you notice? Must be getting careless or something. Getting used to getting away with it. I mean, shit, we make it easy enough for him with our Mickey Mouse force.”